Mrs. Patten has more respect for her neighbour Mr. Hackit than for most
people. Mr. Hackit is a shrewd substantial man, whose advice about crops
is always worth listening to, and who is too well off to want to borrow
money.

And now that we are snug and warm with this little tea-party, while it is
freezing with February bitterness outside, we will listen to what they
are talking about.

'So,' said Mr. Pilgrim, with his mouth only half empty of muffin, 'you
had a row in Shepperton Church last Sunday. I was at Jim Hood's, the
bassoon-man's, this morning, attending his wife, and he swears he'll be
revenged on the parson--a confounded, methodistical, meddlesome chap, who
must be putting his finger in every pie. What was it all about?'

'O, a passill o' nonsense,' said Mr. Hackit, sticking one thumb between
the buttons of his capacious waistcoat, and retaining a pinch of snuff
with the other--for he was but moderately given to 'the cups that cheer
but not inebriate', and had already finished his tea; 'they began to sing
the wedding psalm for a new-married couple, as pretty a psalm an' as
pretty a tune as any in the prayer-book. It's been sung for every
new-married couple since I was a boy. And what can be better?' Here Mr.
Hackit stretched out his left arm, threw back his head, and broke into
melody--

'O what a happy thing it is,
And joyful for to see,
Brethren to dwell together in
Friendship and unity.